Rivalry
by Kurzon-Daxtrious0424
Summary: What to do when your best friend is your worst enemy (England Reader insert. Warning, character death, sadness, possible tears if emotionally fragile)


"Commander (y/n). Commander! COMMANDER!" You jerked awake at the sound of one of your soldier's yelling at you. You had only intended to let your eyes drift shut. But instead you appeared to have fallen asleep. You privately hoped that you weren't snoring. Or drooling.

"You were snoring. Ma'am." The soldier smirked, and you sat up, red faced and embarrassed. Was this man a mind reader?!

"Uh... well, tell me why you woke me, Private." you coughed, glancing at his ranking for a moment.

"Sir England is back. And he brought more soldiers." The Private reported, his face showing clear annoyance at the country's resilience.

"That idiot... double up the border patrol. That hardheaded idiot can't know we're suffering." You ordered, annoyance causing your brow to twitch.

"We're... actually short. On soldiers." The Private winced as he prepared for an outburst from you. You merely sighed in exhaustion, as you hauled yourself up from the dirty ground of the command tent. Honestly, you wouldn't have been in this situation if England wasn't so damn greedy for land. He actually thought that attacking another nation, one as developed as himself no less, would actually win him some land. Just because he could pull that damn trick on France didn't mean that his low blows worked on you. You actually remembered when you, him, and France used to hang out, and how France would make fun of you and England for being shorter than himself. Just because he was the tallest didn't mean he was the smartest, and England shared your thoughts on that. You fondly remembered when you and England had spent a day together, back when he had been running from the Bishop and you helping him escape. You two had made flower crowns and promised to be friends forever and ever. Hmph! Some promise keeper he was! Now, just several hundred years later, he was acting as if you two were rivals from the start. Idiot.

"Send someone over there and tell that man to please come on peace terms." You ordered, scowling.

"W-what?! Miss, he'll never agree to that!" The Private stuttered.

"Then tell the man who's going over there to tell England that I still remember when France made him wear a dress." You smirked evilly as you imagined England's face paling at the memory.

"You're sure he'll still come? What if he just kills our messenger and keeps attacking?" The Private questioned.

"I gave you an order." You growled threateningly.

"But- Yes, Commander." The Private looked nervous at your sudden anger.

"Good boy. Now run along. And get someone to set some tea. And (favorite food)." You ordered.

"Yes Commander." The Private ducked out of the tent, and you followed, taking a spyglass from one of the soldiers and peering at your sent messenger, watching as the soldier sped across the open field of the border between your camp and England's. As you watched the soldier disappear over the hill, you kept your spyglass trained on where the soldier disappeared, and waited for the sound of a gunshot. From the eerie quietness of the battlefield, you silently crossed your fingers as you hoped that England was at least considering what you were offering. All your hopes were crushed when you heard the sound of several gunshots. At first, your mind wondered if your soldier had maybe fired first, and England had reacted, but part of you doubted that.

"I had hoped he would be more reasonable. Gather what men we do have. If we're all going down, we're going with style-" You were cut off by the sound of hooves beating against the ground, and you turned to see none other than England himself, and several troops riding in with their country flag, and England waving to you.

"What... the... fuck..." You looked in disbelief as England came riding in as smug as ever, dismounting his horse in an exaggerated manner.

"Should we shoot, commander?" the soldier snapped you out of your jaw dropping moment, and you blinked before coughing and wiping your mouth of any drool.

"Uh... no, don't shoot. Yet." You caught your manner, and stood straight as England strutted over. He was way too smug for this to end well.

"Yes ma'am." the soldier nodded stiffly as he turned on his heel and marched away.

"Didn't know women could fight." England taunted, and you noticed with alarm at the bag held behind his legs.

"And i didn't know you were still as much of a barbarian as ever. And you claim to be civilized." You scowled in disgust as the smell hit you.

"Says you. I offered many times to help you. I could have made you into such a lovely lady. But now, you're sitting in bloody mud, eating the same swill as you feed your soldiers." England shot back.

"And in return, you'd rip my economy and society apart. And what makes you any better? If anything, eating swill with my soldiers adds a certain humility. Something you've forgotten to do." You gritted your teeth.

"At least i have a future. You on the other hand... you're sitting in a mud hole. I could have made this place rich and fertile. If you'd only accept my offer." England tossed the bag to your feet, and you fought not to puke on the spot as the severed head of your soldier rolled out of the bag.

"You're greedy. I remember when you were the one sitting in a mud hole. And who helped you then? Tell me." You challenged, kicking the head at England's leg, and you could see he was fighting the urge to show disgust at the thing touching his leg.

"No one helped me. I helped myself. And now i'm past that point. And i'm offering to help you do the same. All i ask is a little... donation." England stressed the word, trying to sound persuasive.

"What a shame. You don't even acknowledge that someone helped you grow past being the barbarian you still are." You snapped at him, stepping closer to him.

"I just do what i must. Sad that i can't say the same of you, Mongrel." England spat the word.

"So, you're here to finish me off? I'm not becoming your slave." You reached for your gun.

"You won't be a slave. You're too troublesome for that..." England smirked perversely, putting his hands on your waist.

"Fuck you." You snapped.

"With pleasure- wait, what are you doing?!" England's eyes widened in panic as you lifted the pistol.

"I believe my boss's words were 'don't let that bastard lay a hand on anyone'. And you won't. Ever again." You growled into his ear as you lifted the pistol. "MEN!"

England struggled as your men surged forward, dragging him kicking and yelling from you.

"Let me go! You can't do this! Not my (y/n)!" England yelled, and your heart jumped at his use of the words 'my'. Somehow, it didn't feel like he were referring to you as property. It felt more like something deeper.

"I can, and i will." You said, hardening your aching heart. This had to be done. For the good of your people, and for the good of him.

"No! You can't! Please! For me!" England's tears dripped down into the mud.

"I'm afraid i can't. And... well, i'm not the one doing it." You sighed, as the nearest soldier lifted his pistol to you.

"WHAT?! SHE'S YOUR COUNTRY!" England screamed, struggling more, and you could see your men straining to keep him under control.

"We can't live under 'unity'. She strains to keep what she calls 'unity' anyway. There are just as many who don't want to be apart of your little 'empire'. So we're willing to sacrifice our unity to keep away from you." the soldier growled, and England ripped his arm from one man as he heard the gun click into firing position.

"You fools! You can't just kill her and expect separation! You kill her, and you're killing your whole country!" England yelled as he fought to free his other arm.

"We're willing to risk it." England broke free and ran to you, with you holding him back just as the pistol fired. England blinked away tears as he looked for the wound. Right through the chest, and straight through the heart. He stumbled for your hand as you gasped for breath.

"You idiot... you lovable, foolish idiot. Why... why did you do this!" England sobbed into your chest as you weakly patted him on the head.

"I can't stay a unified country. There would be a revolt, and i have to avoid that" You coughed blood into his uniform, and he barely noticed it as he patted your hair with a shaking hand.

"This... this solves nothing! W-we'll get you all fixed up, right?! Right?!" England asked frantically, as you stroked his cheek.

"You know i won't survive this... *gasp* j-just k-know... i... love..." You shook as you finally passed, and England shook you frantically.

"You love... who?! WHO?!" England sobbed into your (h/c) hair. "When i wake up... this will all be a terrible dream. Please be a dream. Please, Please, Please..."

You made no more motions, and England hugged your body as tears poured down his cheeks.

"My (y/n). We promised to protect each other! We were supposed to be together!" England cried, as the soldiers all backed away to give England time alone. "I loved you. I promised to protect you, we promised to protect each other! My poor (y/n)... please just let me wake to this being all a terrible dream..." England rolled over, face first in mud from your blood. Gripping the mud, he cried into it. This wasn't supposed to happen! Not at all! He'd spent years of his childhood doting over you, withstanding teasing from France, dreaming of creating a paradise where the two of you could be together forever. Being allowed to kick France around and having France serve the two of you for as long as the two of you could. Now that dream was shattered, with a single ball of solid lead, what else was there for him.

"I'd done all of this for you... All of these efforts, WASTED!" England screamed into the mud angrily sitting up and throwing a fistful of mud in any random direction. He heard a clink of metal hitting wood, and he looked up to see he'd hit a pistol on a nearby desk. He stared at it for a while, before looking between you and the pistol. He let his eyes rest on your beautiful (s/c) face, before letting his eyes drift to the pistol. With shaking hands, he stumbled over to the mud-covered pistol, and picked it up with shaking hands. Filled with grief and anger, he clicked the pistol into firing position. 


End file.
